


What more can I do?

by Tita



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: All I Want For Christmas Is Love Actually, Basically a live Jimmy Fallon AU, Christmas, Famous Harry, Famous Louis, Flirting, M/M, Pining, Popstar Louis, Talk show/SNL esque show host Harry, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 04:33:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2838086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tita/pseuds/Tita
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry hosts a television show, flirts with a certain pop star by the name of Louis Tomlinson and resorts to crazy schemes to get a holiday date. Regular holiday happenings, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What more can I do?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Keep_Calm_And_Read_Fic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keep_Calm_And_Read_Fic/gifts).



> Okay so I begun and finished this today, largely due to reading Fioraldirection's fic so yeah thanks to them! :)  
> This is also for Giselle's Christmas tag because she's a motivating cutie and for her because she's just lovely and basically the reason I even thought of doing a Christmas au this year!  
> Thanks to everyone who beta'd at such short notice and to Jaya for the ending!

It's twenty days until Christmas and Harry is getting ready to start the holiday-themed skit for his talk show. The audience is cheering, the lights are positioned right and the beginning of the song is playing from the speakers. Sighing, Harry places his hands on the top of the wooden box he’s hidden in and thinks ' _Here we go'_ as Mariah Carey eases into the song with her smooth voice.

Three...two...one…

_"I don’t want…”_

The song picks up tempo and Harry bursts out of the wooden, specially-constructed, gift box, sexy santa dress clinging to his body as he mimes the lyrics. The audience goes nuts with laughter as he pirouettes and dances in pretend, sexy ways against the candy cane set, loving every second of it. The set’s decorated with fake snow, so he picks some up and stuffs it in his dress, shaking his pretend breasts in the worst shimmy possible until it all falls out and he’s giggling. His hat is skewed but he couldn’t care less, hips swinging to the beat.

Sue him, he loves this song and dancing and the _whole thing_ basically, feeling festive and joyous as the (albeit shortened) song slowly draws to a close. Picking up a candy cane, one of the real ones he hopes, and closing his lips around it suggestively, he dances the last few bars of the song. Letting the cane go, he winks when the music fades.

Grinning as the hoots and claps of the audience reach incredible levels, Harry makes eye contact with the camera and announces a break, waiting for the ‘Live’ light to switch out before calmly walking over to his chair and slumping on it. He loves his show, he does, but god, is it tiring. Even more so since he has to watch his step twice as much during the crazy sketches, the knowledge that it’s live and that he’s had too many incidents already making him extra careful.

Feeling cheeky, Harry takes out his phone and pulls up twitter, ignoring his blowing up mentions in favour of opening up a new tweet.

_How great did my legs look in that dress, huh? You’re welcome for the fantasies, @Louis_Tomlinson_

He tweets it after looking it over once, deeming it kind of risque but well, that’s basically what this thing he has with Louis is. It was purely teasing, not that Harry would be opposed to anything else with an international. openly  gay superstar. Harry’s had odder pastimes.

Production’s calling for everyone to take their places for the next skit, so Harry forgets his phone and puts on the bushy Santa beard, heading for set yet again with a smile on his face.

*

“Come on guys, he’s on!” Harry urges as he sits up straighter on his couch, television turned on and showing the heavenly sight that is Louis Tomlinson walking onto an interview set.

He’s dressed in a black turtleneck and red blazer, hair styled up in a quiff that has Harry almost drooling from where he’s squished against Niall and Zayn.

“Want us to give you some alone time, Harry?” Zayn teases from his spot, yelping when Harry shoves him off.

He’s not that pathetic, he’s _not_ , it’s just that his platonic crush looks very good in turtlenecks and he’s smiling and okay, Harry may need to take a few moments by himself.

“So, Louis,” the interviewer is starting, introductions had apparently already taken place during Harry’s hawk-eye analysis of the tiny, pixelated Louis on his screen, “there have been a few rumours of you and Harry Styles flying around lately. Care to comment?”

The on-screen Louis laughs as Harry freezes, cheeks going red at the mention of his name. His heart is beating double time now, and he’s taken Zayn’s hand, bracing himself for the complete dismissal Louis is most likely going to give. He’s basically the son of a god, there’s no way he’s interested. His flirty tweets back, especially the other day’s reply of _‘simply splendid, dear. Save that dress, will you?’_  say otherwise, but semantics.

“Oh yeah,” Louis replies, smile on his face; if he’s smiling, it can’t be too bad, can it?

“It’s just banter between lads, really.”

And okay, that’s not too bad, Harry can take that, he’s not delusional or anything. “I’m flattered people think I could get him, though, he’s way out of my league. Face of an angel, that one.”

Harry’s brain might’ve just exploded all over his living room. Louis Tomlinson, voted most attractive celebrity for three years straight thinks _Harry_ is out his league? Prepare his headstone and loosen the earth, for Harry is about to die.

The interviewer laughs and they move on to other topics, but Harry’s glued to his spot, eyes wide and disbelieving as he looks at his friends who sport similar surprised looks, albeit slightly keyed down. But they’re not the ones Louis just called angel-faced, nope, that’s just Harry; green eyed, always clumsy, definitely in or below Louis’s league Harry. This may be the best moment of his life.

“Did he just--” Harry begins, but then he’s being tackled by his cheering friends, the rug uncomfortable under his back as he’s hugged by Zayn and shaken by Niall.

“This is great!” Niall exclaims, a look of pure glee on his face and, wait a minute, what?

Harry voices his question.

Zayn and Niall look at him as if he’s suddenly dumbed down to the intellect of a three year old.

“Now you can ask him out,” Niall exclaims, seemingly finding no problem with the daunting concept.

Asking Louis Tomlinson, protagonist of every one of Harry’s fantasies for a year, out. As in: a date.

“Are you crazy? I can’t do that,” Harry protests, sitting up and leaning against the couch, the pure joy of Louis’s comment fading as reality sets in.

“Why not?” Zayn asks, settling down beside him. “You already know he likes you.”

Harry shakes his head. “He said he likes my face, Zayn, it’s not the same.”

“Well, let him sit on it, then,” Niall offers with a dirty grin. “At least you won’t be so sexually frustrated.”

Harry pushes him away, but also laughs, shaking his head at the comment.

“I want it to be more than that,” Harry laments, and the wishful thought cuts through the cheerful atmosphere.

They watch the rest of the interview in silence.

*

The bad thing about doing live shows is that everything can go wrong at the last minute. They’re set to begin their fifteen days of holi _guests_ today, an idea Harry had had a few days ago. One special, young guest per day for the fifteen days leading to Christmas to be interviewed with randomized, holiday-themed questions. Slightly insane, but also very, very fun considering in the ensemble there is the ever-friendly and easily flustered boxer Liam Payne, and a bunch of celebrities Harry’s friends with. Oh, and also Louis, but Harry’s trying not to think about that in fear of being unable to meet him in person due to the nerves.

he bad thing is: they depend on the guests actually showing up, so when on the first day Nick Grimshaw can’t make it because his flight gets delayed due to the snow, Harry’s ready to pull his hair out. Production is doing their best to find a new guest, they’ve assured, yet Harry can’t keep still in his chair. He’s been doing this show for three years and this is the worst thing by far, surpassing even the thong incident (he doesn’t want to talk about that).

Ten minutes before the show, an assistant comes by and informs him that they’re working on it and they’ll get started with the show anyways. If they find someone, they’ll come in after the final ads. Harry shrugs and nods, not having anything else to do and hoping it doesn’t turn into a career-ending disaster.

The show begins like any other, Harry cruising through the segments easily. He’s got them practically ingrained in him by now, having thought and carried them out many times. Before he knows it, they're cutting off for the final ad break, the musical guests are shuffling off of the set.

Slightly more alert, Harry lets Caroline arrange his blazer and hat while he tries to crane his neck and spot who the guest will be after all. He then wishes he hadn't, because rushing out of wardrobe is no other than life ruiner, Louis Tomlinson. A billion alarms go off in his head and he blinks a couple of times, testing to see if he's still there after each one. Sadly, or amazingly, he is.

Harry grabs a random person going by with a production headset and hisses, “Wasn’t he going to be our guest on the 23rd?”

He hopes no other onlookers can hear the urgency in his tone. He can’t interview him on a regular day, and now he has to with absolutely no prep. Great, that’s just amazing. Harry will make a fool of himself on live television in ten minutes, and there is no way to avoid it.

“He was the only one who could make it on time,” the assistant answers, body leaning away from Harry in fear.

He’s not to be blamed, really, when Harry imagines he must look as crazy and out of himself as he feels.

“Live in two!” someone yells, and Harry’s eyes widen, panic setting in.

“You’re a pro at this,” he tells himself, breathing in and out in an attempt to calm himself; all those yoga classes better be worth the money now, “It’s your show and he’s just a guy, really, nothing special about him or his blue eyes or his bum or--” he cuts himself off, knowing that’s not a road he wants to go down on.

Louis’ not set to come in until Harry introduces him, so he heads over to his desk and slurps greedily at his water bottle, desperately wishing it were something stronger. Drunk Harry is so much more charming.

The countdown begins and the crowd is signalled to clap, the cameras giving a wide shot of the studio and then focusing on Harry, who’s managed to repress most of his panic and put on his usual smile.

“Tonight we had promised you Nick Grimshaw,” he starts, silently cursing snowstorms everywhere.

“But, he couldn’t make it due to the weather, so instead we have one of Britain’s, and dare I say my, favourite heartthrobs,” Harry punctuates his quip with wriggling brows, pausing to get the full effect. “Louis Tomlinson, everybody!”

The band plays the opening music and from the side, Louis steps onto the set, smile bright and perfectly white as he waves for the audience. He’s dressed slightly more casual for this interview, according to the laid back style of Harry’s show, but he still looks chic as hell in his skin-tight black jeans and button up. His hair is parted to the side, swooping in the most devastatingly charming way, and Harry can’t help but stare for a second before he remembers to get up and shake hands with him. The thought of Louis’s small palm in his ginormous one is immediately banned from his brain for everyone’s sake.

“Thank you, Harry,” Louis says as he sits down, one leg bent and delicate ankle resting on the other, “Been looking forward to coming here.”

“Have you?”

The question escapes Harry before he can reign in his excitement, but he bows to get himself under control. He’s not a drooling mess, for fuck’s sake, he’s a well-known host.

“Yeah, the silly ones are always the best,” Louis answers, winning smile directed at the audience as they laugh.

“Even more so if the host is cute,” he winks, _freaking winks_ , and Harry ignores it completely to focus on the beginning.

“How dare you call my show silly!” Harry exclaims, mock offended as he raises a palm to his chest.

“I’ll let you know that this is the finest of shows. Pure ballet and culture discussions,” he insists.

Louis laughs. “Is that so? Tell me Harry, are you a part of the dance, tights and tutu, the whole shebang?”

“Well, of course Louis, these legs are _made_ for spandex.”

That punches a laugh out of the audience, and Harry realizes that this is good, the banter they share. He knew people liked it by the insane amount of speculation surrounding their tweets and the number of retweets they had too, but seeing the audience like this, and Louis all grinning and happy puts it all into perspective. Yeah, maybe it does make Harry’s heart beat twice as fast and his stomach erupt in butterflies every time Louis looks at him with that teasing glint in his eye, but no one seems to mind.It’s just banter anyway, Louis said so himself. They may as well be happy and make others the same way while they’re at it. It’s not like Harry can tell him he doesn’t _just_ want to sleep with him on national television. His show’s content is unusual, but _definitely not_ that kind of content.

Harry naturally transitions the conversation onto Louis’s new album and his tour, managing to slip in a few flirty comments that are responded to easily by Louis. It’s effortless, really, and before Harry knows it, his head production manager, Eleanor, is telling him there’s only one question left before the break.

“So, Lou,” Harry says, leaning closer conspiratorially, “I’m sure everyone wants to know, are you cheating on our internet love with someone else? I promise I won’t cry if you are.”  
Louis smiles, he hasn’t stopped since he came in really, and shakes his head, “I could never, Hazza, the curls have got me for good.”

The audience goes wild with cheering as they stare into each other’s eyes for comedic effect. Except, Harry feels a stirring deep in his gut, and suddenly, he’s not sure what he would’ve done if Louis had answered with a name. Weep internally and plot revenge, probably. Secretly (or maybe not--he’s never been a good actor) pleased, Harry closes up the show and leans in for a hug, figuring they’re at that level now.

Louis smells all sorts of wonderful, and, when they have to pull away, Harry swears there’s a moment when they just look at each other, sharing a second just between the two of them in the busy studio. It passes as soon as it came, but Harry bets he won’t shake the memory for hours.

The show ends and they all go home, Louis being rushed away, so they don’t see each other after it. Louis completely slips Harry’s mind until the next day, when he’s running around the studio trying to polish off the details of today’s show.

“Harry! Harry!”

Harry turns around and finds Eleanor trailing after him, hand waving a paper in the air. When she reaches him, there’s a secretive smile on her lips.

“A certain someone left this for you yesterday,” she says, taking Harry’s hand and depositing the strip of paper in it with extreme care.

“What?” he asks.

“Just read it,” she waves him off, already taking a few steps backwards and towards where she came, “and tell me everything tomorrow!”

With that, she's gone, and Harry’s left standing in a forgotten corridor of the studio with a mysterious piece of paper. Not being able to stand not knowing, he scrambles to unfold it and almost faints right there.

 _would love a private show, call me_ it reads, followed by a series of digits signed off with a _lou xx_

So now Harry has Louis’s personal number and possibly an aneurysm. Lovely.

 

*

“Just text him, Harry,” Zayn sighs, flopping back onto the couch and closing his eyes.

Harry needs better friends. Or to make up his mind about Louis, whichever is the easiest.

“I don’t know what to say,” he laments, copying his friend and slumping on the opposite couch.

Having a crush who says you’re attractive, but has given no hints of anything else is hard. Even harder than one who only flirts via Twitter. Harry knows, he’s been through both because of this Louis thing; this marvelous, confusing Louis thing.

“How about ‘hi’?” Zayn suggests, “it’s what normal people do.”

“But Zayn,” Harry groans, stretching out his friend’s name in what he’s sure only makes him sound like an upset baby; that may just be the perfect description of what Louis has turned him into, though, “I don’t want to be normal! I want him to want to text me more than others, you know? To be a _specia_ l contact.”

“Oh I know what special contact you want, alright,” Zayn grins and Harry does hate him, he does, it doesn’t mean anything that he’s smiling.

“You’re mean,” Harry groans, “I just want to be with him. Why does it have to be so hard?”

“It doesn’t,” Zayn supplies. “You just make it that way because you’re a hopeless romantic out of place in today’s society.”

Harry rolls his eyes, “Shut up, you sound like a pretentious dick.”

He totally is a hopeless romantic, but he doesn’t admit it until he’s rewriting his text again and again in an attempt to make a simple ‘hi’ convey his desire for a relationship.

 

*

In what must be a christmas miracle, Harry manages to get into a regular texting cycle with Louis. It’s mostly friendly and harmless--except for when it’s not. They both apparently have a hard time keeping innuendos out of the conversation, so half of what they text tends to get flirty fast. It’s not like Harry minds, but Louis has never answered to his subtle hints of meeting up for a date. Of course, Harry hasn’t been very explicit on his wish for it to be a date, but he doesn’t feel like risking it too much. Louis is actually a great guy to have around, and though it makes Harry’s heart ache every time they talk, he’s not ready for his wishes of more to be shut down. Ignorance is bliss in this case.

It’s that inability to act, the sticky situation Harry has gotten into that is blocking his mind, he’s sure of it. He’s got to come up with the final christmas sketch for the episode on the 24th, and so far, he’s drawing blanks. Nothing is good enough. It’s got to be funny, but also sweet, the perfect combination for any sketch really, and Harry’s frustrated thoughts are only allowing for mediocre and plain. Sure, the writers will take care of it if he asks, but he always feels better if he at least pitches in his idea.

Deciding to call it a day, since he still has the whole of tomorrow to think about it, Harry packs up his stuff and heads home, shooting Niall and Zayn a text and urging them to come over. If this thing with Louis is what is blocking him, he has to get it out of him by tomorrow because if not, god save his sorry ass on Christmas eve.

They don’t take long to arrive, and by ten Harry’s cuddled between his two mates in his couch watching Love Actually. It’s a great movie, even if it does make him wish for his own happy ending with a certain curvy popstar.

“What’s wrong, babe?” Zayn asks, ever perceptive as he runs a hand through Harry’s hair, probably because he knows it calms him down. Harry takes back every single bad thing he ever said about his friend, he’s a pretty ace one.

“It’s Louis,” answers, burrowing further under the blanket they’ve dragged off from his bed. “I want to tell him I want to date him but I also don’t want to risk it too much. I care about him.”

“I know,” Zayn mumbles in agreement, hand still tracing idle patterns on his hair. “How will you ever know if you never take the risk, though?”

Harry hums thoughtfully.

“You’re too poetic for my troubled mind, Malik,” he answers instead.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Niall cuts in, breaking the atmosphere with his loud words and cursing. “It’s not that hard, Harry, just tell him.”

Harry’s not surprised, Niall’s a good friend and listener but when he thinks you’re being dumb, everyone hold on.

“I can’t!” Harry protests again. “I can’t just outright say it, Niall.”

The honest admission makes Niall pause, though just for a moment, and when he speaks next, he’s got a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Did you say Louis was free for the 24th?”

*

It’s insane, that’s what it is. Harry’s never been this scared before a show, ever, and he has no idea how Niall convinced him to go through with this. The stakes are much higher but also lower at the same time (if that’s possible) which means it’s not an outright statement but it’s also going live to every home that’s watching so, yeah. Harry thinks he’s got the right to be nervous this time.

He’s arrived late to the set in order to avoid hanging around with his invited guests before the show, but it’s ten minutes till showtime and he has no option than to stand still on the set as his mic is arranged. In plain view are the other guests, the members of Bastille chatting as they drink some coffee along with Louis, who hasn't spotted Harry yet. He plans to keep it that way until they have to take places, so Harry’s being extra quiet and sneaking around the set. Most of the production crew and other guests are clued into what he’s going to do, so it’s not too hard to get them to keep quiet. It’s some real spy shit going down then and there.

The show is set to start like normal, so Harry goes to sit on his chair after a few minutes, the clock showing how many minutes are left until they’re live ticking down. From it he can perfectly see as Louis is handed the sketch’s script, Harry having insisted they be handed out half an hour before the performance with the excuse to keep the reactions ‘spontaneous’. Niall had called that an utter piece of shit excuse, but it had worked, so Harry’s not too bothered.

Louis takes it and begins reading, feeling behind him for the chair before sitting down right in Harry’s line of view. He hasn’t got much to do before the show begins in two minutes, so Harry watches him intently, teeth abusing his lip as nerves curse though his body. Louis’s reaction is crucial to the whole plan, so when he gets to the final page Harry takes in a deep breath, the world seemingly slowing down when Louis’s eyes widen.

He then glances up to meet Harry’s gaze, and the few seconds between the contact and the smirk Louis directs at Harry are the most tense he’s ever lived. Then, as Louis shakes his head and smiles one of his usual, amazing smiles, Harry looks away, not wanting to give too much away. Okay, Louis is smirking, that’s good (and very, very hot) and all Harry needs to know in order to calm down enough to begin his show. The clock ticks down the few, final seconds, and Harry puts on a smile as the camera begins rolling.

The show goes by incredibly fast, every guest and sketch paling in comparison to the final one, and before Harry knows it, it’s time for the sketch.

The background is the same, recycled Christmas one he uses for almost everything, but there’s furniture laid all through it and, right above the fake fireplace, a big, obvious piece of mistletoe. Harry gulps.

Some other celebrities are set to be part of the sketch, so there’s a bit of a bustle and hustle as they all get their finishing touches on the costumes, everyone heading to their marked spot as yet another assistant (there are way too many on this how) counts them until showtime.

Three...two...one…

And they’re off, the lights shining down on them as they play a happy family. The first few minutes are great, Harry being glad he let Niall help with it. They’re basically playing a family that comes together for the holidays but it all begins to go wrong for them, the food comically burning as Amy Adams bats the prop smoke and Drake having forgotten all the presents and fastening new ones from soap and lint.

Harry plays the younger son who’s not getting a text back from his crush, so all he has to do is wait until all the funny disasters have occurred and pout a lot but it’s okay, he’s had a lot of practice on that this week.

Then, a phone ding plays from the studio speakers and Harry looks straight into the camera, smiling as wide as he can with how nervous he is.

“It says he’s here!” he reads out loud in what he hopes comes off as confused. He’s never been too good at acting.

“Who?” Amy asks, ever lovely in the role of caring mother. Harry likes her a lot, and even more so when he sends him a secret wink out of camera sight.

“Louis, he’s here!”

Harry’s nervous shuffle to the prop door is purely real, and when Louis’s lovely face greets him on the other side, he has to contain himself to not kiss him then and there. They greet each other and Harry pulls him along to the fireplace, slowing down in order to not mess the sketch up. As per cue, Miley Cyrus, who plays the sister with a torn dress and no sewing skills, trips and sends the mistletoe into the fire and Harry gives the camera his best facepalm, the plans of kissing Louis’s character rouined. Louis pulls an exaggerated pout that is too adorable to handle but they must move on. It is tv after all.

In the final bit of the sketch, Drake pulls a glued together, lint mistletoe and holds it over their heads and okay, now’s the time. With the camera zooming in and the spotlight on them, Harry takes a deep breath and fists Louis’s shirt, joining their lips for the cameras.

It’s sweet and closed mouthed because Harry knows kids are watching, but then Louis moans oh so quietly and kids be damned, Harry wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him closer. Kissing Louis is lovely, all warm and homey even as they both open their mouths and deepen the kiss, Louis’s arms coming around Harry’s neck.

Harry’s about to push him against the wall when he hears a loud shout and oh right, they’re on tv. He untangles himself quickly and turns around to look for the screamer.

“We said cut four times, guys,” Eleanor is informing them along with all the actors on set which are watching Harry and Louis with amused eyes. Harry’s cheeks go pink and he turns around to face Louis, wanting to carry out the last of his plan, even if it means going home with the knowledge that the fantastic kiss will be the last.

“Will you-” he mumbles, eyes set on the floor of the set before he decides that no, he wants to do it right. “Would you want to go on a date with me?”

It comes out soft and quiet but the bashful ambience doesn’t last for long, Louis breaking it as he pulls Harry closer by a hand on the back of his neck.

“If you hadn’t asked me that right then, I would’ve been so mad.” Louis says, smile playing on his lips and a soft shake to his head. “Of course I’ll go out with you, you madman.”

He pulls Harry in for a small peck on the lips, chaste now that they know the whole crew is watching more intently. It’d be hard to miss them by how they’re clapping, loud and cheerful, along with every member of the audience.

“A whole sketch, really?” Louis asks.

Harry shrugs. “Go big or go home, I guess.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up at [ Latitta](http://latitta.tumblr.com/)


End file.
